Fortune Fugitives
by TyrannicalTilly
Summary: Harry and Hermione are on the run from Voldemort: they have their wits, a magical handbag, quite a few dangerous situations, wild escapades, close calls, too many horcruxes to destroy, and each other.  Action-filled, dollops of fluff here and there.


Her eyes felt scratchy and raw from fatigue, she blinked slowly but continued on with the complicated charmwork in front of her. Balanced across her lap was the old, broken Nimbus 1999 that Harry had stolen from their latest too-close encounter with the Snatchers. Last night, or was it early morning? Harry had been on watch outside their magically-enlarged tent while inside she had lain awake; fretting over freckles and red hair. He'd heard leaves crunching in the distance. Cautiously, trying not to breathe too loudly as the worry started to pump adrenaline through his veins, he had crept to the limits of their combined protective spellwork and let his eyes dart around the night trying to locate the source of the sound. He didn't have to wait long. Two Snatchers soon strode into view, and chanced to stop a metre or so in front of the youth, who slowly crouched down to the forest floor. The spells should shield him completely from view, however he couldn't stop his muggle instincts from kicking in.

The Snatchers were looking around the woods, themselves; occasionally sparing a glance up to the dark, clouded night sky. The older of the two looked impatient, and the younger was somewhere between terrified and curious. Harry had noticed this, even in the dark of the night, but his eyes focused on what the two demi-dark wizards were holding. Brooms. _Brooms. _Harry's heart was beating a mile-a-minute, he had felt so trapped on terra firma ever since he'd lost his Firebolt. Crikey, he'd missed the feeling of swooshing gracefully through the sky, the air caressing through his hair with fine tendrils, always delicate and weightless. His thoughts had snapped back to attention as his ears picked up a slight whistling sound. The wizards on the Other Side heard it as well, and their heads craned back to pick up the arrival of two more brooms. One featured a wizard-shaped blob, the other, a small bundled heap.

"I see you managed to catch up with our little miscreant after all, eh Tick?" had been called in greeting from the older wizard to the new arrival. As he spoke, he shifted his attention to his companion  
>"Well, laddie, look s like your mistake won't be mortal after all, at least not <em>tonight<em>."

The other wizard, Tick, was tall and bulky. He alighted heavily and clumsily onto the ground, the second broom swooped almost to the ground with him, but its rider didn't hop off. With a jolt Harry realised that they had been strapped tightly to the broom with magically-summoned rope. It was a goblin, though in the dim light Harry's non-perfect vision could make out no further details.

"Snagged her a few miles North of where Andrews managed to misplace 'er".

"She's bleeding?"

"I blasted off one of her toes to remind her of the 'chain of command'." Laughter.

A slight whimper could be heard from the bundle, Harrys fists had clenched tightly by his sides. Blood drummed almost deafeningly in his ears.

"Andrews, how about you make it up to old Tick here? He must have gone through such an effort to find her for us. Finish her off." Andrews had flinched subtly. Enough to elect another laugh from the older wizard, whose manner had then turned malicious as he pulled on Andrews robes and thrust him towards the pitiful bundle. After regaining his balance, Andrews raised his wand.

"I don't want him blasting up my broom, Dunne." Tick pointed his own wand at the broom, and it twisted sideways as the ropes dissolved, dumping the small goblin heavily. Andrews yelled out hesitantly a cutting curse, but in his nerves his aim was off. The half-hearted dodge from the goblin was enough to make it miss her completely. Her confidence rose and Harry could just make out the rush of movement that was the small bundle jump up, and begin running haphazardly through the trees. Roaring, Tick fired a curse of his own. Time seemed to slow down as the angry red spell sped towards the tiny creature, but she was ready this time and eager for revenge. Spinning around she snapped her fingers, and the spell ricocheted back to its caster, who in panic ran in the other direction. He jumped behind a tree, but the spell had already found a target – it blasted a broom in half as it burst out of life. A curt yell was heard, and a green flash accompanied with the smell of burning sulphur filled the air. The bundle was still, and Dunne lowered his wand, looking at his two companions with disappointment and rage. The trio had left shortly afterwards, and Harry had collected up the pieces of the broom and the body of the goblin.

He brought both back to Hermione, and they had both cried. She wept freely: For the terror of another close call, for the death of a goblin, and guiltily in relief at the safety of her best friend. His tears weren't as freely given, and believed each one that escaped his eyes to be another disappointment, each cementing the belief of his uselessness and inability to help yet another victim of the war. And so now, Harry was burying the goblin at the base of a large tree in stoic silence, and she was wracking her brain to recall any repairing spell that could possibly work on the broom. She realised not only its importance to Harrys happiness, but also that it could be a great help to them both in terms of their survival – not just relying on apparition could mean the difference between life and death. With apparition, they were limited to places they had already visited – places firmly envisioned in their memories. With a broom, they could find new locations, decreasing the chance of them being discovered, they could be far more mobile. Brooms could also work in places where apparition could not.

"_Reparo, reparo. Reparo! Maximus reparus! _Damn you, vous morceau de merde stupide_."_ A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped slightly, ashamed at her momentary outburst.

"In the morning, 'Mione. We'll leave it to the morning, and take the locket off for awhile, please?" Hermione looked sheepish, but let Harry steer her back into the tent. With fingers that were still slightly grimy from the forest floors dirt, he pulled the necklace gently over her head. His fingers brushing the skin of her neck for the briefest of moments. It caused tiny shivers to cascade down her back, and she inhaled the earthly smell coming from him. Her heart betrayed her slightly by skipping a beat, but she was too emotionally exhausted to entertain any ideas of what that could mean. Instead, she simply watched as Harry laid the horcrux on the slightly rickety table next to the broken Nimbus. Shortly afterwards as the sky was lightening to a moody grey, they both fell into their beds, and exhaustion took them hostage for the rest of the morning.


End file.
